Melancholy Christmas
by Cottonpaw
Summary: "Merry Christmas, Dad," Al whispered so softly, he feared it would be carried away on the wind. But a wide, beaming smile split across Harry's cheeks and light filled his eyes once more. ONESHOT


**A/N: It's Christmas time yet again, and here's my way of featuring Al - finally. Enjoy, and happy holidays!**

The footsteps in the hall aren't what woke Albus Potter on Christmas Eve. He had been awake for hours, watching the snow fall silently past his window. He pulled the covers up to his nose, following the sound intently as it passed his bedroom door and crept down the stairs. At first Al reasoned it was Ginny, going to get their gifts so she could Banish them to the end of their beds. But he knew for a fact that all the presents were stashed away in the bottom of his parents' closet.

Al pushed the blanket to the side and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, only pausing long enough to shove his feet into his slippers before he tiptoed out the door. Downstairs, the kitchen was in shadows. Al could see a corner of the Christmas tree decorated in paper chains and fairy lights in the sitting room, and beyond that a light shone through the crack in the door to the study. He crept closer, attempting to see into the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" Al spun around so quickly he tripped over his slippers and fell, sprawled out over the sitting room floor. Harry chuckled and helped Al get to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Al demanded before his father could chastise him for being out of bed. Harry had his boots on, laces trailing on the floor, and his coat dangling from his fingers.

"For a stroll," he answered vaguely, falling onto the sofa to tie his boots. Al stood where he was, quietly waiting for him to elaborate. When Harry was finished, he looked up and gave his son a quizzical look. "What are you standing there for? Get your shoes on." Al hesitated, but he returned to the kitchen and shoved his feet into his trainers. Harry held his coat out for him, and together they ventured into the snow.

Al followed Harry in companionable silence down the road. His eyes darted around, taking in the sight of the decorated houses that lined the street, all topped with a layer of fresh snow. As they navigated the streets, Al wasn't able to recognize where they were, and he was quite sure they were lost. He looked up at his father, but Harry's face was set into a neutral expression, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Harry's face frightened Al. He had, of course, seen his father in all states of emotion: happy, angry, sad, tired, excited. However, he hadn't seen the pensive, hard look Harry wore as they crunched through the snow. Al had an inexplicable desire to grab his father's hand, but instead he curled his fingers into fists inside of his mittens.

"Here we are." Harry whispered, but the sound startled Al out of his reverie. He gazed at the iron gate in front of them and the row of headstones that lay behind it. He thought he had begun to understand.

Harry wound expertly through the graves until he found what he was looking for. Al followed much more slowly, feeling very apprehensive. Harry took out his wand and cleared the snow off the headstones and the ground in front of them. He took a deep breath.

"Al," he started somewhat shakily, "meet my mum and dad." Harry conjured a wreath and placed it in between the graves, then a blanket, which he sat on, cross-legged. He was very still, and his gaze was fixed on something far away, as if he had forgotten where he was and who he was with. Al stood behind his father, staring at the names carved into the stone and feeling as if he was intruding on something. He knew James and Lily Potter had died when Harry was a baby, and that they were buried near his house. Al couldn't remember Harry taking him or his siblings to see the graves, and he suspected that from the look on his father's face, he knew why.

A large hand tugged on his smaller one. Harry had reached out to him without turning around. Al let it guide him until he was pulled down onto his father's lap. He took advantage of the intimacy and snuggled into Harry's embrace like he did when he was a small child. Harry absently stroked Al's hair and leaned his cheek against the top of his head. Al wanted more than anything to be able to rid his father of the awful look he had on his face.

"Merry Christmas, Dad," Al whispered so softly, he feared it would be carried away on the wind. But a wide, beaming smile split across Harry's cheeks and light filled his eyes once more.


End file.
